


Bound

by keelhaulrose



Series: Marked [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 09:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelhaulrose/pseuds/keelhaulrose
Summary: Hermione thought she would never see her soulmate again, but fate seems to have another plan.Sequel to Fate





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #HHBingo19 for my square I3- Bucky Barnes

Rain tapped lightly on the window as Hermione gazed out of it, vaguely seeing the shapes of people moving quickly in the street six floors below. Behind her on her desk her computer chimed, signaling the arrival of more news from her query, but she didn't respond. She knew enough to know it would just be the same thing, more stories about the famous heroes, and one infamous former assassin, who were now fugitives. She wondered vaguely if the news would ever get out of her tie to said assassin, the red star she bore on her upper left arm that marked her as his soulmate, something only a handful of people knew. They had called shortly after he had escaped, she was already in the airport with Harry, awaiting a flight back to London, a flight that was necessary to keep up muggle appearances. She spent the rest of her time waiting in the airport scanning faces, occasionally glancing at hands to see if there was the telltale glint of metal, unsure if she was more excited or scared at the prospect of seeing him. In the end, however, she boarded the plane and made it back to London without incident. Harry stayed with her that night, under the guise of helping her come to terms with her new status as 'unpaired' soulmate, something that often meant a lifetime alone, though Hermione knew her friend was also worried that perhaps Barnes would seek refuge with the one person he was supposedly destined to be with. Hermione let him stay, though she knew better. The authorities knew of their connection, she now felt eyes on her wherever she went, and she couldn't imagine him being thick enough to try to contact her.

 

Her last client had gone home nearly an hour prior, and yet Hermione couldn't bring herself to leave just yet. All that awaited her was an empty flat and Crookshanks, who seemed to be in a mood since she had gone to meet her soulmate. She had nothing to do either here or there, so she stayed put, watching the rain and the figures trying to keep out of it below.

 

The door opened without a warning. She tensed, but refrained from going for her wand, knowing it would only make a bad situation worse.

 

“Miss Granger,” a voice said softly.

 

She glanced behind her. “Close the door behind you, Mr. Ross,” she replied.

 

He complied and stood in silence, which she let linger for a moment before she turned and motioned for him to take one of the chairs as she sat across from him.

 

“You've been watching me,” she said, starting the conversation.

 

He raised an eyebrow.

 

“Your people have been discrete, but it takes a lot to pull one over on a witch, especially one who has been through some of the things I've been through. When you've been hunted, Mr. Ross, you learn to trust that feeling, the one you get deep in your very bones, that something has you in its sights. It's a skill I picked up during the war, and it's never really left me. And the point of all that is to say you should know I haven't seen him, nor communicated with him.”

 

“You do know, as a witch, it's hard for us to verify that,” he replied. “We might not know much about magic, but that in and of itself is evidence that the magical community is quite skilled at hiding. So it would follow that you might be able to pull off a covert meeting without our knowledge.”

 

“A fair assumption,” she conceded. “But Mr. Barnes is a Muggle, meaning he is not magical, and therefore those methods would be cut off for him. And considering you've seen the only interaction I've had with him I'm not sure how we were supposed to arrange a covert method of communication.”

 

He nodded once, and studied her for a long moment. “Barnes is dangerous, Miss Granger,” he finally said.

 

“I suppose Captain Rogers is as well?” she raised an eyebrow.

 

“Theoretically. However Captain Rogers is not at the mercy of a set of words, as Barnes unfortunately is. The last thing we need is the wrong person finding him.”

 

“Well, then you best go look where he may be, but as you know he's not here.”

 

“We know. We think he's with Rogers, and they both know their faces have been on the news in nearly every country nearly every hour. They've got to be desperate and looking for a friendly face, say, a face that is forced by fate to do at least one of them no harm.”

 

She looked taken aback for a moment. “Are you implying that you wish to use me as bait to lure them out?”

 

“I'm giving you an opportunity to bring him in alive. And for your cooperation we're prepared to offer you access to him while he's in a safe, secure facility.”

 

Her eyes narrowed, though the rest of her face remained stoic. “You are asking me to lure the man into a trap, and you propose to pay for my services with conjugal visits?”

 

“That's a rather crude way of putting it, but yes.”

 

“You must think me truly desperate, Mr. Ross, that I'd sell my integrity for a few shags.”

 

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and for a minute neither spoke.

 

“Do you know what I do here, Mr. Ross?” she asked.

 

“You're a psychologist,” he said.

 

“To the Muggles, yes, as I have to keep up appearances to maintain this office,” she replied. “To the magical world I am nothing less than one of the greatest mental healers who has ever been around. I specialize in what some might think are hopeless cases. No one from my world comes to see me first, and if they did I would not accept them. They come to me when every other option has failed, and I turn away ten times the number of patients that I accept. I treat only those with the worst trauma, those who cannot function without intense intervention. I enter their minds and I erase the traumatic event from it, because that's the only way they may be able to heal.”

 

“It sounds like you would be very in demand,” he said slowly.

 

“It's much more complicated than what you are thinking,” she shot back. “One cannot just enter the mind and pluck a single memory from it and expect a person to be healed after. A memory that is that traumatic effects other memories, it effects a person down to their very essence. You have to carefully remove all those ties. One wrong move and I risk leaving the person a shell, or I risk removing large parts of their lives. It is like removing a tumor from the brain, it must be carefully cut from the surrounding tissue, but any trauma to that tissue can have disastrous results. Even when done properly there are side effects, and it takes intense therapy, for months or even years, to even get a person I have treated back to the state where I can pass them off to a more conventional mental health worker. Above all to be effective in my work I need to be implicitly trusted by those I work with, for me to lure someone like Bucky in to be captured would not only destroy the trust the public has in me, it would go against my vows as a Healer and the very fiber of my being.”

 

He considered her for a long moment. “I am starting to see why fate paired you and Mr. Barnes. Have you considered that you might be exactly what he needs?”

 

“The thought has not strayed from my mind since I learned about him. Working with him would be both the easiest and the most challenging case of my career.”

 

“How so?”

 

“So much of the Winter Soldier is separated from Bucky already. While more recent events would mean that there is some separation that would have to be done most of his... conditioning would be nearly as simple as going in and plucking those memories away like cans off a grocery shelf. And therein lies the challenge. Hydra already erased so much of Bucky that, while taking the memories away would be easy, finding and unlocking the memories that make up who Bucky really is without the Winter Soldier would be a Herculean task.”

 

“If you did that, if you were to find him and heal his mind, those words would have no more power over him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He studied her for a moment, then stood. “I believe we're done here, Miss Granger.”

 

“Actually, we have one more thing to discuss, Mr. Ross,” she said, standing and drawing herself to full height.

 

“Which is?”

 

“I am a medical professional, working with some very vulnerable clients. They expect, and are entitled to, the highest level of privacy possible. I want your men to stop watching me, and to stop watching my home, and especially to stop watching here.”

 

“I can't...”

 

“Yes, you can, and if you don't I will make sure the Oblivator squad knows about the situation, though I can't promise they'll be gentle. Your men may forget that they're your men by the time the squad is finished with them.”

 

“Is that a threat?” he raised an eyebrow.

 

“It's a warning. I do not play games, especially when it comes to my clients.”

 

They stared each other down for a moment, but finally he conceded with a nod.

 

“Good day, Mr. Ross,” she said, and he left without another word.

 

XXXXXXX

 

“Your four o'clock appointment is here, Miss Granger,” the receptionist's voice announced to her empty office.

 

Hermione scowled. She had no four o'clock appointment that she knew of. Nevertheless she pressed the button on the phone. “Send them back, please,” she said. She positioned herself leaning on the edge of her desk, her wand drawn behind her back, ready to fight whoever came through the door.

 

A moment later the knob turned, and a man entered, and it took less than a second for her to realize who it was, though she waited for him to close the door behind him to acknowledge him.

 

“Captain Rogers.”

 

“Steve,” he said with a half smile. She took in his appearance for a moment. He had been a fugitive for nearly three weeks and it seems he hadn't shaved in that time. He was dressed to attract as little attention as possible, shoulders slouched to take some of his height, clothes baggy to hide his physique, a hat pulled low over his eyes. This was very much a very recognizable man trying to be as hidden as possible.

 

“Steve,” she nodded. “What are you doing here?”

 

He looked slightly unsure for a moment and glanced around the room. Recognizing his concerns she shut her laptop and moved it to the mailbox outside her door, then pulled the phone's cord from the wall. Finally she shut off her cell phone.

 

“Nothing is bugged, I've checked every day. The benefits to being like me are that it's very difficult, probably impossible, for a Muggle to hide something from me.”

 

He nodded appreciatively. “I heard through the grapevine what you really do here, what you do for your magical clients.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “The grapevine?” she repeated.

 

“Personally I heard it from Romanoff. Who she heard it from I will never know, the sun will burn out before Natasha Romanoff ever gives up a source she doesn't want to give up, and I'm not dumb enough to try.”

 

“I see. Well, your source happens to be correct.”

 

He couldn't stop a quick smile that crossed his lips, but his next words were cautious. “Bucky is in Wakanda.”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “A third world country seems a very interesting choice of hiding place for someone who would benefit from keeping on top of the news.”

 

He let off a soft chuckle. “It seems Wakanda is about as skilled at keeping secrets as your world is,” he informed her.

 

“I see.”

 

“He's on ice, that is, he's been cryogenically frozen. He doesn't want to be taken out until we've found a way to neutralize the Winter Soldier in his head.”

 

“And you are asking me to do it,” she finished for him.

 

“If there is anyone on the planet who could right now...”

 

“When do we go?” she interrupted.

 

He looked stunned for a moment. “That didn't take much.”

 

“I might not know the whole story, but I know enough to know that it's in his and nearly everyone's best interest for him to be free of the Winter Soldier as soon as possible. And, of course, he is my soulmate. We may not have the connection that one would expect from that, but that doesn't mean I'm not aware that there's something deeper going on between us even if we've only had five minutes together.”

 

“When's the quickest you can leave?”

 

Without hesitation she plugged the phone back into the wall and pressed the button to reach the receptionist. “Gianna?”

 

“Yes, Miss Granger?” the speaker crackled.

 

“I've had a family emergency come up. Please cancel my appointments for the next two weeks. If my regulars need to be seen please work with the other doctors to get them in, and if my special cases need help you know where you can send them.”

 

“Yes, ma'am. Is there anything else?”

 

“No, Gianna, thank you.”

 

“Is she a witch, too?” Steve asked as Hermione retrieved her laptop and started putting some files away in a cabinet.

 

“She's a squib, which means she comes from a family of witches and wizards but has no magical powers of her own. The other doctors in this facility are all Muggles, but I chose to practice here mainly because of her. She knows my codes, and she's fantastic about discretion. And to answer your earlier question, wait here. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

 

She Apparated away before he could say a word.

 

XXXXXXX

 

“I brought him down here once I heard you were coming,” Shuri was talking a mile a minute as she led Hermione, T'Challa, and Steve into her lab. “I'm designing him a replacement arm and didn't feel like running upstairs with it every time I wanted to check a measurement. I was working on something that have helped him with the words, but if you are sure you can do it I would rather it be done than have a test subject.”

 

“I appreciate what you have done for him,” Hermione smiled. “If there's anything I can do to repay you...”

 

“Actually...”

 

“Shuri,” T'Challa interrupted sharply.

 

“Don't interrupt me, brother,” she shot back. “The witch said 'anything' and I would think that includes watching her do magic.”

 

“What kind of magic were you looking to see?” Hermione asked.

 

“I want to watch you work with Barnes.”

 

“You need his permission,” she replied. “Soulmate or not he's still entitled to confidentiality if he wants it. And, to be honest, most of the time what I do looks pretty boring to an outsider. I'm just sitting silently with a patient making uncomfortable levels of eye contact.”

 

“I do not need to hear what you are saying, I meant watching with these,” she said, pointing to a table where some small, metallic dots sat. “I'd put a few of these on your head, and map out what your brain is doing while you're working. I'll be able to see what's happening inside your brain while you're doing magic.”

 

Hermione considered it for a minute. “You still need his permission,” she finally said.

 

Shuri nodded excitedly, then turned a corner and made a motion to something on the other side. Hermione followed her to find Bucky's cryochamber. Involuntarily she placed a hand on it as she looked up at Bucky inside. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she knew she was moments away from being able to talk to him, and maybe even this time touch him, but she was careful to keep her face neutral.

 

“Are you ready?” Shuri asked.

 

Hermione turned and nodded once. As Shuri started pressing buttons Hermione stepped back and let Steve move in front of her, just in case Bucky had a bad reaction to being woken once more. The thaw was over quickly, but it took several agonizing moments for Bucky to wake up.

 

“Steve?” he muttered as the door slid open. “How long's it been?”

 

“Not long,” Steve replied.

 

“You look terrible.”

 

“You're one to talk.”

 

Bucky closed his eyes for a long moment, concentrating, and Hermione could tell he was trying to see if there was any difference in his mind. Finding himself the same as he was when he was frozen he opened his eyes again and looked at his friend. “Does this mean you found something that could help me?”

 

“We hope so,” Steve smiled, then moved to the side to let Bucky see Hermione behind him.

 

“Hermione,” Bucky breathed, stepping closer but still staying an arms length away. He was studying her intensely, more intensely than he had in Berlin when their future together looked non-existent.

 

“I think I can help,” she finally said, her voice soft and timid.

 

“While I'm sure you're a fantastic head doctor, I think I might be too advanced a case...”

 

“Then let me re-introduce myself,” she interrupted. “I'm Hermione Granger, Magical Mental Healer.”

 

“Magical?” he raised an eyebrow.

 

“I'm a witch,” she said, drawing her wand and, without thinking, casting her Patronus. The silver-white otter burst from the tip and swam around a delighted Shuri before coming to a stop in front of Bucky. Almost cautiously it swam closer, winding itself around his legs and nuzzling to his hip, and after a moment he let off a bemused chuckle.

 

“It makes sense now,” he said, reaching down as if to pet the Patronus, then turning his wrist towards Hermione. She could see his mark very clearly now, the whites and blues that made up the otter and the odd, almost imperceptible gleam of silver over it.

 

“That's my Patronus,” she said, reaching towards it, but stopping her fingers before she actually touched his skin. “One can only cast a Patronus charm using a happy memory, and they protect against some dark creatures who have the ability to steal happiness from people.” She looked up at his face and saw him looking at her fingers, so close to actually touching him, but still so hesitant. She bit her lip as his eyes moved to meet hers. For years, ever since she knew what a soulmate mark was really, she had been thinking of this moment, when she first (properly) met her soulmate and they would finally be able to touch each other. She had read countless accounts of people's first experience with touching their soulmate, from fireworks and an instant, passionate connection to a more subtle feeling of calm and ease. It seemed very few people out there didn't feel something when they first touched their soulmate, and she wasn't sure she wanted that first moment to be under such scrutinizing eyes.

 

“Perhaps we should give them some time alone,” T'Challa offered as though he had been reading her thoughts. “Do you remember where your room is, Miss Granger?”

 

“Yes,” she nodded.

 

“Find us when you are ready.”

 

“Thank you,” she said softly, and she motioned for Bucky to follow her, which he did silently through the lab and into the elevator. Luckily the way to her room was clear, and she invited him in without hesitation. She motioned for him to sit on the couch as she opened the doors to the balcony, inviting in some of the sights and sounds of the city around them.

 

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Water or tea?”

 

“Water, please,” he said, and his eyes followed her as she retrieved a glass and some ice from a small mini-bar. She held the glass by the top as she offered it to him, and he took it from the bottom, each still hesitant to be the one who initiated their first touch.

 

“So,” he started, swirling the water and ice in the glass for something to do. “Magical mind healer?”

 

“I, um, I specialize in difficult cases. Cases where a negative event or memory has severely impacted a person's ability to function, to the point where erasing it from their mind is their best opportunity to heal.”

 

“So you'd be able to erase something like my trigger words?” he asked, the glass starting to tremble slightly so he placed it on the table.

 

“Given enough time, I'm confident I could erase everything about the Winter Soldier from your mind.”

 

He looked taken aback a moment, then shook his head once and stared out of the window. “Could you do just the words?” he asked.

 

She studied him, confused. “I don't understand,” she admitted.

 

“I'm sure you've heard enough about what he's, what _I've_ done as the Winter Soldier, so I don't need to tell that story. I still remember every face of everyone they had me kill. I remember their last words, the last emotion they had before they knew what was going on, that look of realization in their eyes when they knew they were going to die. It's not fair that they're gone, and the least I could do is remember them.”

 

“You don't have to,” she protested. “That wasn't _you_.”

 

“I know it wasn't,” he replied, catching her gaze, and she felt a dozen different emotions course through her under the intensity behind his eyes. “But there's no one else to remember, everyone else involved in the program is either dead or they didn't care enough to be bothered by the trail of dead bodies. Those people deserve to have some form of justice, twisted as it may be, and seeing as I'm trying to keep my freedom the least I can do is keep their memories.”

 

“Bucky,” she whispered, so softly she could barely hear it herself, and instinctively she placed a hand on his arm. She didn't realize she had touched him at first, but as she did she feel her body react. It was as though the tension she hadn't even realized she had been holding was draining from her body, the way it felt when someone managed to work a particularly stubborn knot out of her back, all her muscles relaxing so she felt completely at ease with his presence next to her. As much as she wanted to sit and revel in the feeling she felt she needed to continue, lest her whisper of his name sound like pity. She reached up to touch his face and keep his eyes on her. “They do deserve justice,” she acknowledged. “But forcing a man who had no choice in the matter to be mentally tormented for the rest of his days isn't justice.”

 

“Having their murderer remember their last moments is the only form of justice they will ever get,” he replied. “I'm not intending on turning myself in, and I know enough of the world to know that should the people hunting me ever find me they don't intend on taking me alive, either.”

 

She took a deep breath, debating whether or not to keep arguing. “If you truly want to remember them, I can remove your trigger words without removing them, though I can't promise the memories won't be muddled slightly. If I am to remove the words, I have to remove enough of the memories of what you did while being controlled by them that the words are truly gone and not just dormant.”

 

“Understood,” he nodded. “Are you ready to do it now?”

 

“No, I'll need a few hours to prepare,” she said, dropping her hand from his face, but taking his hand in both of hers, suddenly not wanting to give up touching him quite yet. “I need a secure place, just in case I accidentally trigger something when I'm working with you. Most of the time that just means taking wands away and magic-proofing the room, but...”

 

“When you're up against a super-soldier who has been known to break a door or ten you might need something a little stronger?” he suggested with a smirk.

 

“That's the general idea.”

 

“Well, the good news for you, then, is that I lost my major weapon,” he said, shaking his left shoulder where she could see what remained of his metal arm. “So I should be somewhat limited in my ability to cause destruction.”

 

“You said 'limited' not 'incapacitated',” she pointed out.

 

“I always did have a mean right hook,” he smiled.

 

“Ah, though luckily for me fate has decided that you can't hurt me.”

 

“True, you I can't hurt. Steve, however, well, we've beaten the crap out of each other a couple times.”

 

“I have asked Steve and T'Challa to be ready to try to stop you if I monumentally cock this up, but the good news for you is I've never had things get quite that bad.”

 

“How bad?” he asked.

 

“One girl I was working with set fire to the couch I was sitting on. Completely involuntarily, mind you, but rather a shock. Though, in retrospect, I guess that was karma coming back to haunt me. When I was younger I thought a teacher was jinxing the broom a friend was riding because he was staring at it and muttering, which is necessary for casting a jinx. To distract him I set his robes on fire.”

 

Bucky let off a chuckle. “You sound like quite the rebellious one,” he smirked.

 

“That's the thing, I was the one most likely to follow the rules!” she laughed. “My friends had no regard for the rules, but most of the time I was concerned that their rule-breaking would get us expelled.”

 

“But not so concerned that you decided to break a rule and set a teacher on fire.”

 

“I thought I was saving my friend,” she protested.

 

“Thought?” he looked at her questioningly.

 

“Well... The teacher I set on fire knocked into the one who was _actually_ casting the jinx, so in a roundabout way I did save my friend.”

 

“By setting an innocent man on fire.”

 

“To be fair, he was performing the counter-jinx, and when you can't hear what they're saying it is impossible to discern someone performing a jinx or a counter-jinx.”

 

“You still set an innocent man on fire.”

 

“Shut up,” she fake pouted, but her smile quickly returned.

 

“Yes, ma'am,” he fake saluted, but rather than put his hand down he reached over to brush some hair from her face to behind her ear, and his face fell into seriousness. “What does this mean for us, Hermione?”

 

She bit her lip as she thought about it. “I guess much depends on how well I can treat you. If I somehow fail to delete the trigger words...”

 

“I'm going back on ice.”

 

“I'd rather you not, but that is your choice. If, or rather when, it does work I'm not sure what our next steps will be. But I can offer you and Steve somewhere safe to stay near me while we figure things out.”

 

“Moving in together already?” he raised an eyebrow, though there was a mischievous glint to his eyes. “That's a bit... unorthodox.”

 

“Nothing about us is orthodox,” she replied. “And welcome to modern times, having my soulmate move in so quickly after finding him is not exactly unheard of.”

 

“'Modern times' are something I feel will probably take some getting used to. I lived some of it for a little while after I escaped but I doubt it's the same. With any luck, though, it sounds like I'll have a fantastic teacher.”

 

She bit her lip. “I just want you safe,” she said softly. “Whatever happens after that...”

 

“I'm going to do right by you,” he promised, his face serious as he cupped her cheek. “I always promised myself that when I found the girl this mark tied me to that I would do anything to be the type of person she deserved. Things might not be orthodox between us, but I promise that I will do right by you.”

 

“I think that's a promise I can make to you, as well,” she murmured her reply, pressing her face into his palm.

 

“The sooner we get rid of these words, the better,” he smiled again. “Then the only one who can have control over me is a million times more pleasant than anyone who has in the past.”

 

“I should hope so,” she chuckled. “Are we ready to get things set up so we can get started?”

 

“Just one more thing,” he muttered, moving his hand to the back of her head and gently bringing her face to his. His lips met hers lightly, almost hesitantly, though she quickly pressed herself into him. As his lips careful led hers, the kiss becoming deeper, a feeling of contentment washed over her, driving every other care in the world away until it was just the two of them and she would have been happy to be lost in him for hours. When he did pull away he kept his hand cupping her face, his thumb moving absentmindedly over her cheek.

 

“Are you ready?” she asked softly.

 

“Very,” he nodded.

 

She took his hand and stood, leading him from the room.

 


End file.
